Pain
by starry-oblivion
Summary: Dean Winchester feels dead and empty. On an aimless drive, he comes across something that reminds him of the fact that he's anything but. Meant to take place just after "My Bloody Valentine" but only vague spoilers.


Dean Winchester drove.

Destination: unknown. Somewhere. Somewhere far away from angels and demons and brothers and broken promises. Somewhere where things made sense, where he didn't feel empty and shattered and torn and completely and utterly _dead_. Maybe he'd pay Hell another visit. It should be a short one, since Michael and the other winged dicks would discover where he'd run off to and zap him back to the world of the living.

Lost and even slightly, reluctantly scared, Dean stopped the car and leaned his forehead on the steering wheel. The air around him was bitterly cold, but the wheel had been gripped tightly for the past twenty miles, so it felt warm against his skin. His dead skin. His dead, soulless skin.

"Screw this," he muttered, his voice gravelly from lack of use. He didn't need to dwell on revelations. Hell, there was an entire book of Revelation, and he was tired of it. Confusing as astrophysics, and not nearly as entertaining. And the ending sucked, too, considering who was set to play the opposing forces in the real-life version.

He stumbled out of the Impala, blinking in the darkness. He was on a bridge littered with trailing gray fog, not unlike the bridge where the White Lady he and Sam had tagged teamed against had jumped to her mortal death. Not a bad idea, at this point. And from the looks of it, Dean wasn't the only one half-tempted to play copycat.

Walking towards the dark figure seated on the ledge, Dean saw what might just become another White Lady staring back at him. As he got closer, he could see that her face was grim and set, and he wouldn't be surprised to shine a light on it and spot tears streaming down it. "I thought you were my brother," she said lowly.

"I'm nobody's brother," Dean replied wryly, stopping a few feet away from her. "And Nobody's sleeping with an angel watching over him a whole lotta miles away."

"I'm sorry," she remarked unapologetically. "How did he die?"

Morbidly entertained by her misunderstanding, he honestly replied, "He got stabbed in the back. One time too many."

Apparently unsure whether he meant in the literal or figurative sense, the young woman was quiet for a moment before looking down at the river and jagged rocks below. "Do you think that hurts more than drowning?"

Dean observed her in silence for a while. She looked to be a little younger than him, probably closer to her mid-twenties than early thirties. Aside from being a bit on the thin side, she seemed healthy enough, and her stylish short hair and gold crucifix hinted that she was financially stable. No visible bruises, so it didn't seem like anyone was beating up on her. Maybe her boyfriend was cheating on her. Or her elderly parents were getting a messy divorce. Or her brother lost his job and left the family with some sudden money woes. Or she inadvertently started the Apocalypse after being sent to Hell while her brother was growing big and strong on demon blood. Who could tell what sparked these kids to go off and do these sorts of things nowadays?

"I don't think it matters," Dean answered as he placed his hands on the ledge and peered down. "I think you'd have to be more concerned about those rocks down there puncturing a few vital organs before you get the chance to drown."

With a dry, mirthless laugh that Dean would have been sure had come from him, she muttered, "Good thing I'm accustomed to pain."

"Yeah, you've gotta be," he murmured absently, staring down at the crashing waves licking at the rocks. "You're human. Pain's what you're good at."

It would be easy, wouldn't it? To just… not exist for a while? He hasn't exactly earned a pass into Heaven, so it's not like the angels could get a hold of him right away. And all of Hell would probably throw a party for him if he kept Michael from getting to his vessel. Lucifer himself might just shake his hand and thank him.

Dean had almost forgotten that he wasn't alone until the girl spoke up again. "You're not gonna stop me?"

Blinking up at her, he shrugged his shoulders. "It's your life. You've got free will to live as you please. Might as well use it to die the same way."

Clearly not expecting this response, she hesitated for a moment before looking at Dean with reluctant curiosity. "Are you him, then? The angel?"

His blood running cold, Dean gaped at her as he asked, "What?"

"The angel of death," she answered quietly. "Mom used to say that when your time comes, the angel of death sits with you and tells you that it's okay. That death isn't scary. That it's just another part of life. And all of that other bull that religious people like telling each other."

Not liking being compared to an angel, Dean shot back, "If it's such bull, why are you wanting to do a jackknife into the river, huh?"

"Because _life_ is bull!" For the first time, she exhibited a definite emotion, though Dean couldn't quite figure out what it was right away. It looked like it tried to be anger while masking some kind of sadness. "You're born, you live, you die, you decompose. There's nothing else! So why should I try so hard for a degree that's not going to guarantee me a job I want, or work to bring a family together when they hate one another's guts, or give a rat's ass about what people are going to do without me?"

It suddenly hit him what that emotion was. It was fear. And for some reason, that pissed Dean right the hell off. "You shouldn't."

She stared at him, aghast, having obviously expected some kind of sermon about how beautiful and worthwhile life can be. "Go ahead," Dean continued. "You're absolutely right. Life's all about pain and death, so why should you wait around for some freak accident or debilitating disease to rip you out of the limelight? Cut yourself loose. No one will miss you, and even if they do, they'll get over it. That's what an angel of death's supposed to say, right?"

Tears shone in her eyes, though it didn't seem like the girl was faltering. It almost looked like she was actually taking strength in his disheartening words, as though they were the push she needed to really do this. With a nod, she turned back to gaze down at the water. She took a breath. She pushed herself off the ledge.

And Dean roughly grabbed her by the arm and yanked her onto firm ground.

Even as she cried out in a mixture of pain and surprise as she landed on her side, he shouted, "But I'm _not_ an angel! You know why? Because that would make me a douchebag! And I might be a hell of a lot of things, sister, but I'm not a douchebag!"

Crouching down besides her and knowing full well by the look in her eyes that he was coming off strong, he nevertheless continued on relentlessly. "You know why you should try, and work, and give a rat's ass? Do you know why you should _care_? Because you're human. You're built for pain. And caring, that _hurts_. That hurts like all the tortures of Hell combined sometimes, and believe me, I know. So you'll deal with school and jobs and family and your own insignificant self-doubts, because that's what you were born to do. You want to take the easy way out, that's gonna be a hell of a problem. Because there _is_ no easy way out."

Letting go of her and rising to his feet, Dean watched as she cried on the ground, scared and shocked and confused. He couldn't blame her, really. He didn't know how much of what he said was meant for her and how much of it was meant for himself. Something in him stirred, and he didn't give a crap _what_ anybody said; that was a soul in there. That was an honest-to-God soul, and it was in pain, and that meant that he was alive.

"This is a war," he announced to the girl who was steadily backing away. "You either soldier on, or you die trying. Taking yourself out of the game just forfeits one more point over to _their_ side, and believe me sweetheart, this _is_ just a game to them."

"You're a crazy bastard," she told him in a shaky voice, shaking as she staggered to her feet.

"And you're scared of the crazy bastard," he retorted, holding his arms out to his sides, approaching her. "Why? What can the crazy bastard do to you, huh? Afraid of being kill-"

He was cut off by a sharp and sudden slap across the face. The girl could hit. Hard enough that he was sure he could taste blood on his lip. Gingerly touching his face while she backed away as though expecting him to retaliate, Dean actually grinned, no doubt perpetuating the "crazy bastard" illusion.

"Look at that," he noted quietly. "You're scared enough to fight. So why the hell are you throwing in the towel?" Even as the woman realized that there was some kind of lesson in this, Dean shook his head and lowered his voice. "Don't go giving them points. We need all the fighters we can get on our side."

"Crazy," she murmured as she backed away, hardly glancing back to keep from falling. "You belong in a nuthouse."

"I've already been to a couple," he called out as she turned and ran for it. "Did more harm than good, if you ask me."

Swiping his arm over his lip to get rid of any blood, Dean chuckled quietly to himself. He didn't think she'd go off and do anything stupid, not when she still cared enough about life to be frightened of getting killed off by a lunatic. As far as he was concerned, he did his good deed for the night. He kept someone alive. Hell, if he wanted to be honest with himself, he kept _two_ people alive.

Back in the Impala, Dean sat down heavily as he stared at the bridge. It really _was_ just like the one that marked his and Sam's first adventure on their own. Back when Sam was still little Sammy. Before their father died, before Ruby, before the demon blood, before Lucifer. It got harder to pretend that they were still the same people they were all those years ago. Knowing the things his baby brother has seen and done, it sometimes actually _hurt_ to look at Sam now. But Dean was human. Pain was what he was good at.

And Dean Winchester drove on.


End file.
